Intoxication
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "The first time Haruichi tastes alcohol is from his brother's mouth." Haruichi doesn't like the taste of alcohol and Ryosuke is persuasive.
1. Liqueur

The first time Haruichi tastes alcohol is from his brother's mouth.

The liqueur was a good idea - Haruichi can smell how sweet it is, like bubblegum and cherries in equal parts - but there's a burn even just from the careful sniff he takes, a evaporative heat that closes his throat up just from the idea of letting it touch his tongue. But even if he can say no to the full shotglass, he knows he's doomed when he sees the way Ryosuke smiles, even before his brother tips his head back and swallows his own drink in one smooth mouthful before setting the glass down and reaching for Haruichi's. He keeps his head up, this time, opens his eyes just enough for Haruichi to see the color shift into darkness as the pink liquid slides past his lips to pool on his tongue.

Haruichi is shutting his eyes even before Ryosuke's fingers curl against the back of his head, parting his lips in willing submission before the burn of alcohol clinging to Ryosuke's mouth touches his. It's as bad as he expected, syrup sweet and alcoholic burn in equal parts as he swallows the heat down into his stomach, but Ryosuke lets his touch linger, keeps his lips parted so Haruichi can lick the lingering flavor off his tongue directly.

Haruichi doesn't know how Ryosuke can stand to hold the alcohol heavy on his tongue for the time it takes him to lean across the table each time. But every time Haruichi swallows back the alcohol a little more of Ryosuke lingers on his tongue, like the burn in Haruichi's throat is branding his brother into his body more than the alcohol. He keeps going, accepting the poisoned almost-kisses until he can't stand up, until he's kneeling on the floor and clinging to Ryosuke's shoulder just to stay upright.

He remembers Ryosuke's laugh, in the haze of bleary intoxication, the pressure of a hand at his back urging him into the bedroom so he can collapse fully-clothed atop his sheets. He almost remembers the fingers that stroke through his hair as he slides into unconsciousness, the touch uncommonly gentle against his skin. It's lost to a dreamscape by the time he wakes with bitter on his tongue and an ache in his head, but he wakes up smiling even as the details fade into forgetfulness.


	2. Memory

Ryosuke doesn't compensate for alcohol tolerance.

He did the first time, assumed Haruichi had never tasted alcohol before, and from how rapidly his brother dissolved into dizzy incoherency Ryosuke was right about this as he is about so much regarding Haruichi. But it's hard to remember that Haruichi is improving when Ryosuke's not watching, is catching up in this as much as in baseball, and it is the fourth time Ryosuke gets his brother drunk and himself tipsy that his error becomes clear.

He shouldn't have given in to the temptation in the first place. Teasing is one thing, flirtatious near-kisses with a bitter aftertaste another, but both are acceptable in a way tenderness is not. Tenderness makes Ryosuke seem soft, makes him _weak_ in a way he never wants to show to anyone and especially to Haruichi. But the first dizzy touch left his fingertips tingling, his blood aching for more contact, so by the time he fell asleep he was already planning their next interlude.

He doesn't realize anything is different, this time. He leads Haruichi to bed, deposits him across the blankets without bothering to get him changed or under the covers; if he wakes Haruichi can do that himself, later in the night. And with Haruichi's face half-buried in the pillow, and Ryosuke believing him near unconsciousness already, he reaches out to press his fingers against the tangled fall of pink hair.

Haruichi moves fast, faster than Ryosuke expects, or maybe it's Ryosuke's reflexes showing signs of the alcohol he's had himself. He doesn't see the motion, doesn't realize his brother is moving until there are fingers at his wrist, pressing desperate against his pulse-point before his heartrate has yet caught up with the panic of getting caught.

"Don't go." Haruichi isn't lifting his head; the words come out muffled into the pillow. "Please stay."

Ryosuke takes a breath, cold with the frigid shock of panic and before adrenaline has yet hit his bloodstream. "I thought you were asleep."

Haruichi turns his head. His hair falls sideways, far enough over his forehead that Ryosuke can see the dark lashes framing his eye. "I'm not."

"I see that." Ryosuke's heart finally catches up to his awareness, starts pounding as hard as if it's making up for the slow start. "My mistake."

"It's not." Haruichi sounds desperate, more like he's pleading than disagreeing with his brother's statement. "It's not a mistake. Aniki." His voice drops low and breathy on the title, the way it always has, like it's a bridge over all the years and distance they have spent apart, like it can span the gap Ryosuke has dedicated himself to maintaining.

"Let go," Ryosuke says, as evenly as he can given the race of his heart. "I'm going, Haruichi."

"Stay," Haruichi says again, softer this time, like a whisper will carry more weight. He's still staring at Ryosuke's face, his lips stained even pinker than usual from the colored alcohol and the friction of Ryosuke's mouth against his. "I won't ever mention it again."

It's the suggestion that brings Ryosuke up short, that eases the force he's exerting to tug his hand free. He can see the sincerity in Haruichi's eyes, the desperation in his mouth that says he'd do anything at all for another moment of Ryosuke's company, and there is a raw temptation in that sort of absolute willingness.

"I won't stay," he says again, and he drags his hand free, because he can't let Haruichi think he's letting himself be pulled. But he does drop low, lets his weight fall to a knee so he's leaning in over Haruichi's bed, so the distance between them is only a few inches instead of feet. "And you won't ever mention this."

It's an order, a command loaded with the certainty of obedience, and Haruichi is nodding, desperate before he even knows what Ryosuke is offering. Ryosuke's blood prickles with the warmth of power, adrenaline and desire rising to meet the anxious want in every line of Haruichi's face.

He reaches out to touch the fall of pink hair, brush it back farther from Haruichi's face without leaning in. "Say it, Haruichi."

"I won't ever mention it," Haruichi says instantly. He's still staring at Ryosuke's eyes, not anticipating any part of his brother's plan. "I swear, aniki, I won't mention anything ever."

"You had better not," Ryosuke warns, and then he leans in, quick and without giving any warning so his lips are against Haruichi's before his brother has time to even gasp in shocked delight. He tastes like sugar, all the burn of alcohol long since faded on the back of his tongue, and he's so close Ryosuke can feel the flutter of eyelashes catching at his hair as Haruichi shuts his eyes. He keeps his open, stares at the close-up color staining Haruichi's cheeks, the high flush of responsive warmth to the pressure of his mouth without the price of alcohol underneath it.

Ryosuke doesn't even have to touch his tongue to Haruichi's lips; he shifts his mouth and Haruichi is parting his lips in intuitive offer, ready to give anything Ryosuke might think to ask for. Ryosuke slicks his tongue against Haruichi's, drags it quick across the roof of his brother's mouth, and then he's pulling away, fast before Haruichi has stopped shivering in ticklish response.

He stands without any outward show of hesitation, pulling his fingers away from Haruichi's skin without lingering and without the hurry that would say it matters to him. He's just reclaiming his hand, as little indication of caring as if he had been touching the sheets instead of the warmth of Haruichi's skin.

"Goodnight," he says, pleasant and polite and distant, and turns to the door without waiting for the "Goodnight, aniki" he knows Haruichi will whisper.

He waits until he's in the hallway, out of Haruichi's sight and safe from discovery, before he curls his fingers in to his palm to press the heat lingering at his skin into the permanency of his memory.


End file.
